Long Night
by Thalius
Summary: "I have been a coward in many ways. To Fareeha, to Overwatch… and to you. I am an old woman with far too many mistakes to count, but perhaps… perhaps I am not too late to fix some of them." Reinhardt and Ana, finally admitting their feelings. Rated M.


**AN:** The lyrics below are from Lord Huron's song _Hurricane._ Also, major smut abound, if the M warning wasn't enough. Enjoy!

* * *

 _I can't sleep when there's something to do_

 _You spend your whole life dreaming and then you wake up dead_

 _It's a long night, can I spend it with you_

 _Cause you're oh so pretty when you stand on the edge_

* * *

The binding of the book in his hands creaked as he folded the cover to open the dog-eared pages. This particular copy of _The history of the valorous and wittie Knight-Errant Don Quixote of the Mancha_ was far past its prime, and he guessed he had only a few more reads out of it before he would have to purchase a new one.

It was the copy Fareeha had bought him many years ago as a birthday present. The message she'd written in the book, scrawling and looped from the imprecise hand of a child, had bled through the cover and coloured the first few pages. The words were in Arabic and unreadable to him, and even Ana had kept quiet as to their meaning, only giving him a warm, knowing smile that had twisted his gut up with butterflies. Regardless, it was a happy reminder of simpler times, and the familiar words of Don Quixote's galant adventures helped ease his mind.

He read as he brushed his teeth and in between changing into sleeping clothes for bed. The book helped to keep him from being tempted to pour over the briefing Morrison had given the team this morning; he would worry about missions as they came, not before. He was too old to be spending his free time fretting late hours into the night over things beyond his control.

Reinhardt had just gotten settled into the blankets when a knock resounded at his door, pulling him away from tales of evil windmills and beautiful princesses. He considered ignoring it and pretending he was asleep, but then wondered if it could be Brigitte; she had set about upgrading his armour, and hadn't stopped bickering with Lindholm over designs since she began the endeavour. Sighing, he carefully set the book down on the bedside table and stood up from his very comfortable bed. He opened the door and squinted down at the person standing there in the dim light.

"Ana," he said in surprise when he saw his visitor, his irritation evaporating. She was similarly dressed for bed, and her long hair had been combed into a simple ponytail that trailed down her back, still wavey from her earlier braid. She had even replaced the dark patch over her eye with silk ribbon, with a piece of gauze disrupting the milky smoothness of the material underneath.

"You cleaned this scruff up," was the first thing she said, looking up at him with a grin. Her hand tugged at the trimmed hair on his face, and he smiled back.

"Yes. It was getting unruly." He touched her hand by his cheek, running his fingers over the softness of her skin. "Is that why you've come? To look at my beard?"

Her laughter echoed in the hallway, and she cast a surreptitious glance behind her before turning back to him. "No, no, but it is certainly a sight to see." Her hand fell away and her expression sobered. "May I… may I come in?"

"Of course." He stepped aside and allowed her to enter. She took in his room with an observant eye, and he noticed too late the pair of boxers hanging off the back of his chair.

"Oh—" He hurried over to grab them, and tossed them quickly into the laundry bin in the bathroom. "Excuse the mess; I rarely have guests."

"I've seen far more profane things than your underwear, _asad._ Don't worry." She smiled and walked over to his bedside table, her fingers running down the spine of his book. "Ah. I've disturbed you right as you were going to bed."

"Not at all." He collected the other laundry on his floor and tucked it away and out of sight, idly straightening furniture as he passed around the the room. When he moved to the bed to smooth the sheets, Ana laid a hand on his arm.

"It's alright, truly," she said. "My room is just as messy."

"That is still no reason to subject you to my own disorder," he argued, and her smile widened.

"Your concern is appreciated." Her hand dropped as she turned to inspect his ragged book again. She picked it up and looked down at the pages, then smiled when she recognised the old copy.

"I can't believe you still have this," she murmured, touching the old ink on the pages.

"My favourite copy," he said, reading over her shoulder. "Fareeha picked a beautiful cover, though it's worn down with use and age now."

"It has been a while since I read this myself. Perhaps I'll come bother you later to borrow it." She skimmed the pages and settled on a paragraph in the middle of one page, and there was a smile in her voice as she quoted the passage aloud. "'Finally'," Ana read, a long finger following the words. "'from so little sleeping and so much reading, his brain dried up and he went completely out of his mind'." She looked up at him, a silver brow arched. "Perhaps Miguel de Cervantes is trying to tell you something, Reinhardt."

He chuckled. "He was a wise man."

"With an active imagination." Ana set the book down carefully on the table, mindful not to lose his page. He watched once again as her smile faded as the silence grew, and her hands came together to pull at the ends of her hair. Were he a naive man who didn't know her better, he would have said she was nervous.

"What is it, Ana?" His hand dared to settle on her shoulder. His heart sped up considerably when he felt her lean into his touch, and then her eye found his.

"Fareeha told me," she began, voice quiet. "That you pledged your life to her after my funeral."

That took him aback. Of all the things he thought she would come to speak to him about, this was not one of them. The very memory of it was hazy to him, dimmed by grief and time. "My pledge still stands," he assured her. "Though she has become a formidable soldier; I'm not sure how much she needs it anymore."

"And she spoke of presents you sent her during holidays and birthdays," Ana continued, gaze fierce. "That you cared for her while I hid myself away in Egypt."

"Recovering," he corrected her, his hand coming up to touch her cheek, just below the silk covering her eye. "I do not fault you for that, Ana."

"No. I accept my own cowardice. That is why I am here." Her hand came up to touch his, covering his knuckles with a gentle palm. Her breath came out in a measured, shaking sigh, making him second guess his assessment of her feelings, for she looked afraid as she stared up at him. "I have been a coward in many ways. To Fareeha, to Overwatch… and to you. I am an old woman with far too many mistakes to count, but perhaps… perhaps I am not too late to fix some of them." Her free hand stretched up and cupped the side of his neck, her thumb smoothing gentle circles just under his jaw.

He dare not even breathe.

"May I kiss you, _asad?"_ It was a whispered request, barely audible even in the stark silence of his room, but the words still hit him directly in his centre of gravity, threatening to topple him over.

His head bent down towards her, as if pulled by a string that bound them together, and he pressed his mouth to hers, an answer to her question. The contact sent a spike of lightning down his spine; his whole body shook with the impact, and only Ana's hands, which now were twined up in his hair, kept him grounded.

No amount of wondering or dreaming could substitute for the actual thing; her mouth held a more bitter flavour than he had imagined it, an echo of the Koshary she enjoyed drinking; her grip was strong and firm in his hair, pulling him closer; her body was lean and hard against his, forcing out any space between them. Sensations and tastes he couldn't have ever accounted for in all his wondering were wrapped up in the press of her mouth, and he decided that maybe he had gone mad after all.

Ana only pulled away when she had run completely out of air, and her soft breath blew onto his skin as she regained her composure. Not allowing any distance to separate them, he kept her close, pressing his forehead to hers and filling his own lungs up with air.

"Reinhardt," she breathed, and the silky rasp of her voice made him shiver. Never had he heard her say his name in such a way, and he found himself recovering from the kiss as well as her words.

"Ana…."

"I should have done that twenty years ago," she whispered into his jaw. Her voice had turned melancholy, an unfathomable regret clinging to each of her words. "So much _time_ wasted—"

"It's alright," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her brow. "We're here now." And he thanked whatever was responsible for driving her to his room tonight, resolving her to finally bridge the gap that had always separated them.

She stood on her toes to kiss him again. Less dazed now, he had the wherewithal to grab onto her waist and pull her up to his height so that he didn't have to bend down so far. The noise she made as he picked her up nearly buckled his legs, and he moved them towards the bed before he could do something ridiculous like drop her.

Ana's legs twined up around his ribs, and she settled comfortably in his lap when he sat on the edge of the mattress. Her tongue pressed insistently against his teeth, and he welcomed her in eagerly. One of her hands had disentangled from his hair to sneak under the hem of his shirt, and he couldn't help the groan that escaped him at the contact of her fingers against his abdomen.

She pulled back again, but this time her head ducked down to press her mouth to his throat. The blood thundered hard enough in his ears to make hearing a chore, but he felt the pleased rumble she made vibrate down her sides easily enough. His own mouth moved to her shoulder, pushing away her shirt to expose dark, smooth skin.

Hands and mouths were now exploring skin they'd only dreamed of touching. He found himself hoping their pace would slow; it had been a long, _long_ time since he'd shared his bed, and with a woman such as _Ana_ … he was surprised he hadn't succumbed to cardiovascular failure yet.

Then he felt her hand palm over him through his pants, and he was certain the end was indeed near for his poor heart.

She drew back just enough to look at him, her lone eye measuring the expression on his face. "I'm not going too quick, am I?" she asked as if she'd read his mind, her hand rubbing over the hardness between his legs.

Doubtful he had the resources to answer her properly, he nonetheless tried to find his voice. "Ana, I—it has been so long—"

"For me as well," she replied, gleaning his meaning. Her mouth curled in a grin that he could only describe as cheeky. "So don't worry about that."

"What about you?" he asked, pressing his mouth to her ear. A thrill of satisfaction hit him in the stomach when he felt her shiver, and her response emboldened him to run a hand up her thigh.

Her hand settled over his, stilling him. "Not yet," she murmured into his hair, kneeling over him. "Let me do this for you." He couldn't see her face, but he heard the smile in her next words. "As you said, it's been a while, hm? I doubt it will take long."

He laughed, the sound rumbling between them. It dissolved into a moan when her hand resumed its movements between his legs, and her free hand pulled once again at his shirt. "Take this off," she whispered into the shell of his ear. "I want to see you."

He did as she commanded, shedding his shirt and tossing it beside him on the bed, now entirely unconcerned with the dishevelled state of his quarters. He'd have time to clean it later.

Much, much later.

Both of Ana's hands slid up his exposed chest, her eye darting across his skin to take his body in. He settled a palm on her waist, unable to keep his hands away. Her gaze travelled over him as he waited patiently, taking in the scars that laced over his flesh and the hair the collected at his chest and trailed down his abdomen. With his body under the observant scrutiny of her eye, he suddenly found himself concerned with the weight he'd collected ever since retiring, and hoping she was pleased with what she saw.

"Still as wonderful as ever," she finally whispered, and he beamed up at her. "Especially now that I get to touch you."

He nuzzled at her neck and pulled her flush against him at her words. Her fingernails dug lightly into his shoulder blades, and he held her close for a moment. He still wasn't entirely sure this was real, and if it did turn out to be a dream somehow, he would take in and enjoy every moment of it that he could.

One of her arms slipped away and he felt her reach into the pocket of her pants. A small glass bottle glinted in the moonlight, and he drew back to look at it. "What's this?" he asked, capturing the hand holding it in his much larger one. He was just able to make out the words on the label, and then his face flushed with understanding. "Oh."

Ana grinned at him. "A far cry more pleasant than the sterile-smelling medical lubricant Dr. Ziegler has in her office. I had to specially order it, but your blush alone is worth the wait it took to get it."

"You planned this, then," he murmured, looking up at her.

"For a while, yes." Her mouth twitched with humour. "Not quite so romantic as a spontaneous declaration, but for someone as old as we are, it requires more planning."

"Nonsense. Had you told me, I would have helped you." He brought the hand holding the bottle up to his mouth and pressed a kiss against the back of it.

"I hadn't been sure you'd agree." Her expression turned solemn. He cupped her cheek with a palm and smoothed a thumb over her mouth to dispel the slight frown, and he felt her words whisper against his finger. "It's been many years, _asad._ I wasn't certain you still felt anything. Not until now, at least."

He pulled her close to kiss her, still reeling at the mere fact that he could _do_ such a marvellous thing. "You do not say many foolish things, Ana Amari, but that is certainly the most foolish I've ever heard."

She laughed into his mouth. "Better to be a fool and kiss you than be a lonely old woman." Then she shifted on her knees, wincing. "Speaking of being old—rest yourself against the headboard. I'm uncomfortable."

He rearranged himself on the bed, shoving pillows behind himself to properly sit up. Ana settled on his legs again, this time sitting on his thighs with her legs curled up loosely around his waist. They exchanged more kisses that left them both breathless and giddy, when finally Ana, half-senseless with excitement, tugged at the waistband of his pants until she'd pulled them halfway down his legs.

He was finding that there were many expressions he had never seen pass over Ana's face until this night. The smouldering look she shot him, along with the gentle hand she ran up the length of him almost ended him right there, but then it retreated to uncork the bottle. She tipped some of the liquid in her palm, and with another quick, heated glance at him her hand returned, this time rubbing over him in earnest.

His head tipped back, thudding against the headboard, and he forced his hands to grip at the bedsheets so that he would not crush her. He felt Ana lean forward, hand still palming him, and her mouth ghosted over his jaw, just above where he'd trimmed the hair down. He managed to meet her lips with his own, but heated cord stringing his body tight made it difficult to breathe, and it was all he could do to groan against her mouth.

Her other hand fisted into his hair, and her lips moved to his throat again. His whole body was shaking, straining towards the hand she had rubbing between his legs, forcing hot air from his lungs in deep, shuddering moans that rocked the bed beneath him. Ana was murmuring into his skin, soft words he couldn't understand in her rasping, low voice.

And once again he found his imagination had come up terribly short, because no amount of aching for her on long nights could have compared to the immediacy of her breath on his skin, her warm hands on his body, and the comfortable weight of her resting against him.

It was more than enough to send him over the edge. He came apart in her hands embarrassingly fast, but she coaxed him through it, her grip warm in his hair and other hand working him until he felt dizzy. Eventually, he had to plead with silent words for her to stop when the grip of her fingers became too much, and only then did her hand retreat, almost reluctantly.

He heard her breathing harshly in his ear as he slumped into the headboard, drained and dazed. He was dimly aware of her grabbing his shirt to wipe clean her hand and the mess left on his belly, dispelling some of the hazy euphoria clouding his brain. A pang of guilt saved him from total immobility, and he was cognisant enough to readjust the waistband of his pants clinging around his thighs.

Ana tossed his soiled shirt away and then came to rest beside him, a graceful arm wrapping around his ribs. He pressed his face into her hair and pulled her snugly into his side, breathing in deeply the scent of her hair.

She left a quick kiss on his shoulder, and then a lone eye flicked up to meet his. A smile played at her lips. The pleased expression she wore was a familiar enough one to him, but seeing it now, with her tucked into his side and dark cheeks glowing warmly with delight, sent a thrill through him.

"See?" she whispered, tapping her fingers along his collarbone. "That didn't take long at all."

" _Mein… Gott,"_ he muttered. A grin curled her mouth and grew wider the longer he looked at her. "Ana, I—thank you."

Her lone eye flicked up to the ceiling in a dismissive eye roll, and she patted his chest. "Silly man. You don't have to thank me."

"No, I do." He turned to kiss her, over and over until she was laughing into his mouth. "Forever and ever until I die."

"That may take a while," she murmured, pressing her face close to his and sighing. "But I will not say no to praise."

"Then you will surely get sick of it by the time I'm done." He kissed her again, deeper this time, and her hand curled up against his jaw. He ran his fingers along her thigh again, rubbing small circles over the fabric with his thumb. "Perhaps I can start by repaying you."

He felt her pause against his mouth. "Reinhardt—"

"Here," he said. Shifting around so that he sat back on his knees, he gestured to the mound of pillows he'd flattened. "Rest here, _liebling._ Let me take care of you."

Ana hesitated, and his brows drew together in concern. "What's wrong?"

"I—" She fidgeted again, looking unsure of herself, and he held out a hand to her. She stared at it from a moment before reaching out and squeezing his fingers.

"You can tell me," he assured her. "Whatever it is. You're safe here."

She nodded her head from side to side, considering. "It's—it has been a while for me, as well. A _long_ while."

He couldn't help his smile. "Then it won't take long for you either, _ja?"_

She gave him a half-hearted quirk of her mouth. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I was afraid I wouldn't even be able to—to do this with you, feel this way after so long, and I… I'm not sure." She shrugged a shoulder. "I'm _old,_ Reinhardt, and we wasted so much time…."

"You forget I'm just as old, _liebling."_ He scooped her up off the bed and held her to his chest. She gasped at the movement, but settled quickly into his arms. "Older than you, even. Have you spoken with Angela about this?"

Ana wrinkled her nose. "I didn't want to bother her over such a silly thing."

He chuckled. "She _is_ a doctor. Her job is to help you."

She made a noise to concede that he may have a point. Reinhardt pulled her up and kissed her again, and her mouth curled up in a grin. He shifted around on the bed until he could lay her back against the pillows, and pressed another kiss to her mouth. "Are you alright?"

Ana nodded. "More than that," she said, smiling at him. "You may continue what… what you were going to do."

His mouth moved to her jaw, trailing down her skin to her throat. "I'll go slow," he told her, pressing kisses to her neck. "You may stop me at any time."

Her answer was a soft sigh that made his heart quicken. He continued to suck at her throat, slipping a tentative hand under her shirt and along her ribs. She froze at the touch. He began to pull away, to see if perhaps she had changed her mind, but then Ana sat up and shed her shirt in a quick flourish of her arms. Her hand came up to fist in his hair. He noted how much she enjoyed doing that, and was endlessly pleased that he could already begin to take stock of her patterns and movements. She pressed her fingers down to guide him to her chest, her body arching towards him. He followed eagerly, enjoying the opportunity to explore the contours of her skin while he drew out gasps and sighs from her with his hands and mouth.

The damp trail of kisses he left on her body was a path he'd mapped out countless times inside his own head, so ingrained that now it was almost second nature to tease a nipple with his teeth and gauge the pace of his movements with her sighs and sharp intakes of breath. He went slow, as he'd promised her, only dipping lower when her hands pressed his head down and her pleas escaped from her lips in half-whispered sighs that sent more lightning down his spine.

He eventually found himself at the crux of her thighs, with the sounds of Ana breathing harshly and the blood throbbing through his body filling his ears. He almost laughed aloud when he tasted her; the subtle tang of Koshary clung to her skin, mingling with the tart sweetness of her own body. He'd tell Ana later that her daughter's assertions that she was a quarter part tea may not be so divorced from reality—when she wasn't pulling at his hair and murmuring for him not to stop, that was.

He took a significant deal of pride from the fact that her whole body was writhing beneath him inside of a few minutes, shivering in his hands and her heels digging into his shoulder blades. Her grip on his hair both drew him closer and pushed him away as she walked the wobbly edge between too much and not enough, and he was more than happy to steady her. He continued to work his mouth against her as she came, pushing her further forward. Her cries, muffled against the pillow, became more and more desperate, until she had to plead for him to stop, as he had with her. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, still tense and shaking with a light tremor, before he withdrew back to the top of the bed.

Ana lay entirely lax against the pillows, the only noticeable movement being the deep breaths she took that expanded and contracted her ribs. Her legs settled down on the mattress, no longer supported by his back, and then she rolled towards him before he had the chance to pull her close.

She breathed into his neck, and one of her arms was slung over his side. Her head curled up under his chin, and he felt her laugh, silent and breathless, against his collarbone.

"Reinhardt," she murmured, and his arm tightened around her waist. "Thank you."

He chuckled, the laughter shaking the bed. "I thought you said no thank-yous."

"That was before you did _that."_

Then she let out a long sigh, as if finally relieved of a burden too long left unattended. She murmured more words between them, this time in Arabic, and he let the raspy edges of her voice soothe him.

He traced the lines of muscle up and down her back as he listened to her, pausing over tracts of scar tissue and old wounds. "I'll do it as often as you wish." As if he hadn't wished to do that for _years,_ and the sound of her murmuring his name as she came wasn't still ringing in his ears.

She shivered, and a breathless gasp of laughter escaped her. "Do not tempt me. I may never leave this room if you do."

He pressed a kiss to her hair. "I'd like nothing better."

She didn't answer him. Instead, she curled closer towards him, and he shifted closer in turn, and eventually they were both cradled together on a thin slice of mattress at the centre of the bed. He rearranged the pillows, settled the blankets over them, and held her as close as he could.

He didn't really sleep, nor did she; her fingers continued to run over his bicep, and his hand continued to play with her hair. Their breathing was loud in the silence of the room, but he was too happy and languid to disturb it with words. At some point in the night they fell asleep, too exhausted to stay awake any longer, but he didn't remember when. All he knew was that when he woke up the next morning, for the first time since he remembered wanting it, Ana would be next to him.

* * *

 **AN:** I'd like to write more for this piece if I can, but no guarantees if/when. Thanks for reading!


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